Page 35 of Goldflame

Another part—the part I hate most—just wants him to hold me and apologize for yesterday.

Both instincts leave me paralyzed, the diary clutched against my chest like a shield that won’t protect me from what’s coming.

Julian stands with his arms crossed in the doorway, an immovable force blocking any chance of escape. His expression is blank, hard, as one of the maids gently pulls me to my feet. I’m too stuck on him—on the way he just stares, as if I’m some puzzle he’s decided is no longer worth solving. Is his heart really stone now? What does he think of me? How does he see me?

The questions suffocate every other thought until I barely notice the maids easing the diary from my grip and beginning to undress me.

When one maid tries to pull my shirt over my head, I finally snap to attention. I cover myself with shaking hands and a strangled sound rises in my throat. “W-what’s going on?” My voice is barely a whisper, as weak as my knees feel.

Julian only stares, silent, his eyes drilling holes through me.

The older maid glances between us before speaking up. “We’re preparing you for tonight’s event, miss. The Harvest of Wealth festival.”

I blink at her. Tonight? That’s right. Julian’s bitch of a mother said something about that yesterday. But I don’t want to be seen by anyone.

And the vulnerability of their hands tugging at my clothes while Julian stands there watching sends fresh heat coursing through my veins. “Get out,” I demand. “Leave.” But Julian doesn’t move. His refusal to even acknowledge me feels like another slap in the face.

Fury boils over, and I find more strength, more volume. “You motherfucker! You monster! Get the fuck out!” The words echo off the walls, ricocheting back into the quiet he creates around himself. But still, he doesn’t respond.

Fine. I’ll hit him where it hurts.

“Acting just like Lucian,” I spit out. “What’s next? Are you going to beat me too? Bring in men so you can watch them rape me? Why don’t you fully become him already since that’s what you want.”

His eye twitches, but he remains rooted in place, the ghost of something darkening his features before vanishing into that maddeningly blank look again.

“Don’t tempt me,” he finally says. He uncrosses his arms and nods at the maids to proceed.

I stare in disbelief as they resume undressing mewith quick, practiced motions. It should be impossible to feel more exposed than I already do, after Lady Harrow slapped me when it would hurt most—in front of the man I still love. The man I have too much history with to outright abandon emotionally.

But this might be worse than the slap.

Julian wants to watch others strip me bare like I’m his prize. That’s what I am to him now.

I turn my face away from him and let the maid pull my shirt off. The humiliation is blinding, suffocating, total.

The universe collapses to the sound of fabric sliding against skin and the relentless weight of Julian’s silence filling every corner of the room—every corner of me—until there’s nothing left but that awful void swallowing me whole.

How did we get here, Julian?

I used to feel the beat of your heart against mine as you held me. The way you’d pull me close like you craved my body too desperately to control yourself. That man feels like a dream now, while this version of you—this nightmare—is too real. What did she do to you? Has your mother really twisted you past the point of saving?

Fighting back against the maids feels pointless. I’m outnumbered, outranked, outmatched in every way. If they don’t strip me now, they’ll only call for reinforcements.

My arms fall to my sides, surrendering to their insistent fingers as they peel away the last of my clothing. A chill creeps over me, despite the warmth of the room and the heat flushing my skin. I can’t look at him; Ican barely breathe through the shame tightening around my lungs like a vice.

The older maid gestures for me to follow her into the bathroom, and I move like a marionette—halting and stiff, with someone else pulling all the strings. Julian’s presence is a shadow behind me.

When we enter, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m pale from days indoors, and it looks so odd for me to be the only one naked. The younger maid turns on the faucet, steam rising around us as water rushes into a golden clawfoot tub that’s absurdly luxurious for this kind of torture.

“Please,” I say again, softer now but still desperate for some scrap of dignity. I glance at Julian. “Just… please.”

Julian stands there in the doorway, unmoved except for that chilling gaze that follows me everywhere. He shakes his head.

My heart cracks deeper as the maids help me into the bath without a word. It’s like they’ve done this hundreds of times before. As if I’m just another girl being scrubbed clean for sacrifice at one of these goddamn Consortium rituals. I lower myself and the hot water stings.

But I don’t flinch. I can do that much at least.

The maids pour shampoo over my hair and work it into a lather that drips down my face. I squeeze my eyes shut. If there’s any part of Julian left that still cares for me—even a sliver—he’s doing a damn good job hiding it.

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